


A Price to Be Paid

by scintilla_misha



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, F/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scintilla_misha/pseuds/scintilla_misha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wanted the Hound to be a noble man, to be the knight that never wanted to be. He was not that man though. She had built him up too high: his small kindness, the little times he saved her, grew huge in her mind and she replaced a person with a dream. It is one thing to save a maid from a crowd of rapers. It is another thing to be a good man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Price to Be Paid

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (posted) ASOIAF story. I read a lot of SanSan stories, but I always find myself wondering if Sandor Clegane actually is who we think he is. What if he wasn't as noble as we all think he would be? This is my interpretation of that idea. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own either of these characters, or any of the mentioned settings (Pentos, the North, etc.)

A price to be paid. 

In the days that followed, Sansa Stark did not let herself think about it. Blocked away, separated from herself, she moved on: quietly, quickly. Easier. Behind her, it seemed small and immaterial, just a small thing. She looked ahead instead: to a future with no promise, to a family that was dead, to a landscape she didn’t know. 

The craven Ser Dontos. The liar covered in blood. The day of the wedding, as Joffrey laid cold in the remnants of a feast, Sansa slipped away: she thought Ser Dontos would take her away, somewhere safe. Instead, she watched him cut down, a craven, a man paid to spirit her away for another man. The man who had arranged it all. This man never even saw her that night, never even saw her. 

The Hound came instead. 

Steady like a breeze, resolute and powerful. Months had passed since his desertion and suddenly, Sansa realized he was there all along. A shadow no one could shake, nor see. The moments she thought she was alone, but heard a rustle; the days where the pain seemed blinding, like a splinter in her eye. He had seen her married to another man. He had seen her humiliation, her fear. The whole time, lurking like a disease.  

Ser Dontos seemed small, in death. Like a child. Sansa could not reconcile his deadness -- his completely empty shell -- with the man she had met so many times. _He was going to save me_ , she had thought. She knew the truth though. The Hound was an honest man -- evil and rough, but honest. 

“Littlefinger,” he growled, his chest pressed against her back. Stranger stomped through the woods. “Hired by Littlefinger.” That was all he said. Littlefinger had all the birds in Westeros and Varys had all the spiders, but dogs hear everything too. And a dog can hide better than anything because no one suspects a dog. He’d scooped her up after she’d found Ser Dontos and taken her out of the city, right through the gate, a hood over her head, her face bent down like a servant girl’s. 

A price to be paid. 

She wanted the Hound to be a noble man, to be the knight that never wanted to be. He was not that man though. She had built him up too high: his small kindness, the little times he saved her, grew huge in her mind and she replaced a person with a dream. It is one thing to save a maid from a crowd of rapers. It is another thing to be a good man, to be a knight. Perhaps the Hound did deserve knighthood more than any other in Westeros, and perhaps he was the one who wanted it the least, but a good knight does not make a good man. Sansa knew that now. 

“You owe me, little bird,” he said, shoving her to the ground, two miles outside of the silly. The black of night wrapped around her like a cloak. She shivered. “I will travel hundreds of miles with you and there is but one thing I want for payment.” She stared into his burned face and knew he meant it, knew he would never take it back. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

A price to be paid. 

Nothing free in the whole world. 

She remembered the stars: she could see them, outside the lights of the Red Keep. Nothing looked more beautiful than those stars, blinking like the steel of a blade above her. The moon, a raccoon’s eye, as sharp and fierce. He growled at her not to cry, to save her _bloody_ tears. She did, for him. He grunted like an animal. The pain felt unbearable, but it settled in her heart. Her body seemed to swallow every tear, every pain, every muffled cry she wanted to sound. It seemed to hold inside of her, building like a well. Lessons. She swallowed the pain like a lesson, a bitter potion in her throat. 

Nothing free in the whole entire world. 

After, he wrapped her up in his cloak, held her shoulders with both arms and stared into her face, as if steadying himself. “I had to do it,” he whispered. “You owed me. All the bloody times I helped you.” 

“It was the only thing I had to give,” she replied, her voice like a solitary song note. He smiled then, a true smile, carving his scars across his face. They seemed to deepen and recede at the same time. She shivered. She felt scared and safe at the same time. He put her back on the horse and they rode again, her back to his chest, the road beneath them, the horse swift and steady through the night.

A price to be paid. 

She blinked the memory away, looked up at the sky, grey clouds parting to reveal a blue as deep and wide as the sea she dreamed of. They would reach Pentos soon. They had sailed from Duskendale, through the Gullet, and now sailed across the Narrow Sea. Through storms and rough seas, the ship now flew like a waterbug across the water, smooth and even. 

She felt sick no longer. Sick with herself, sick from the sea. 

The Hound cast a shadow across her. “Little bird, it is time to retire,” he said. She held his arm as they walked below deck, into the dark, musky embrace of their room. It was damp in the cabins, smelling like mildew and salt. Their room was furnished with a bed covered in thick fur blankets, a desk, a tiny round window that felt and looked murky to the touch. 

He had not touched her since that night, the night he took the only thing she had to give. She carried it like a medallion, the knowledge of what he had done, what he had taken. It was nothing to her now. Nothing she could change, nothing she could refuse. She could never have refused. She did not want to. She wanted freedom more. 

She learned, though. She learned. 

Nothing free in the entire world. 

No bird, no dog. No man, no woman. No peasant, no prince. 

 

* * *

 

Pentos.  

Curlicue accents, spiced skin like paprika, the smell of cinnamon and lemon in the air. Sounds of bells and foreign tongues. Sansa saw it then, how easy it would be: to slip away from him, to disappear forever. What would she do? 

She realized: the only thing she could do was find a man, let him between her legs in exchange for safety, for food. She realized Cersei was right then, there was power in her, power in her sex, but not really. All across the world, they hurt little girls. 

The noble knight. The pauper. The raper. The maester. 

No difference then. The Hound or any other man, it was all the same. She could give. She could be taken. She would never receive, never take for her own. 

She allowed the Hound to sell her jewels and the fine gown she had brought with her, the one she had worn for her wedding to the Imp. She did not cry to see them go, not even the jewels her mother had given her to keep safe, not even the ones her father gave her. She could not even remember why she brought them, why she wanted them so. It mattered not. A gift for a gift. 

As long as he never touched her again. Never hurt her again. 

He used the coin for a manse, found himself work as a sellsword. He was still strong, still brutal, still useful. Sansa roamed the small manse in the long hours of his absence, touching the scant window coverings, the rough silks to hide the hot sun. She sat in the garden and touched the blooming flowers. 

Winter roses. They came to her one day, in a thought, as sudden as anything. _I will never see one again_ , she thought. _Only in dream._ And so, she dreamed them. Winter roses, as vivid and beautiful as anything. And more too: Lady and her soft fur, nuzzling into the direwolf pup’s neck and smelling danger, the godswood; Arya, laughing and running towards her; Robb and Jon, even Theon, fighting in the yard, always smiling, always in love with one another, brothers in arms, brothers in blood; Rickon and Bran, their playful laughter; Bran’s quick, solid footsteps across the ceiling of her bedroom and then, his torso through her window, followed by his skinny legs. 

Only in dream. 

After a fortnight in Pentos, he came to her again, as a man comes to a woman. 

She did not cry that time either. She buried the hurt inside of herself again, weaving it into an armor. She was as free as anything could be (nothing free in the whole wide world) and she was fed, clothed, safe, bundled in a manse. 

A small price to be paid. 

For being free as anything could be, in a world where nothing was free. 

He held her jaw in the end, to look at his face, his half-open eyes and his scars, burning like a fire into her. His body like a knife against hers. 

“You’ll get no apology, little bird,” he said as he dressed. She pulled her shift over her head again, looking out the window. Pentos slept like an infant, unsteady and whimpering.The sky was black and there were no stars. 

“I will never ask for one,” Sansa replied. 

Nothing free in the entire world. 

 

* * *

 

And so it was: a gift for a gift, an eye for an eye. A wolf girl bundled away in a Free City (where nothing was ever free) kept safe for a price.  

Most days, she never saw the Hound. He visited her almost nightly. She stared into the ceiling, into the thin blankets of her bed, into his eyes. She searched for anything, any kind of warmth, but no matter what, she never cried. She never begged. She did once, the first time, a quiet _Please_ and it meant nothing. 

Her courtesy, her innocence. It never saved her. Not once. 

A price to be paid. 

And so small. A man in her bed nightly, but coin in her pocket when she walked to the market. The city of red brick and clay, the city of secret slaves. She counted herself as a one. A wolf kept safe by a dog, a wolf kept prisoner, a wolf kept silent. So small a price, so easy. 

She never asked him the question that burned inside of her, the one that threatened her very sanity. Each night, she built the armor inside of herself, to keep the question at bay. _At the end of this, when the time comes, when the world I know is safe again, what will happen?_

She buried this question deep inside of herself, deeper than the pain, deeper than the regret, deeper than the sorrow that threatened to overcome her. She buried this deep, during it into a rock that she could not touch. _Do not think of it,_ she reminded herself, as she touched the beautiful flower petals in the market, asking in Valyrian for the price. _Do not even tempt yourself with wanting an answer._

A small price. For the flowers. For her soul. For her safety. 

 

* * *

 

She knew then, it was what he always wanted. Her cage. He mocked it at one time, the little bird in her cage, tortured and hidden away. He did not want to free her. He never did. It was not out of malice though. Desire is a beast that tears from the inside, tearing away the conscience, the morality of any man. 

He desired her and that was his kindness. 

_And truly,_ she thought, strolling through her garden, blooming with a ferocity she had never seen before, _the price I pay is small for the freedom I have._ He no longer snapped at her. He never hit her or pushed her, or made her grovel for him. Coin every week for food to feed them both, to pay for a servant girl to sweep the floors and air out the front room. 

He controlled the cage now. It was his hand on the door. Keeping the light out of her eyes, out of her heart. But he could not stop her dreams. 

Nothing free in the entire world. Except for her dreams.

In her dreams, she walked about the winter roses, through Winterfell. She felt the hot springs again, the baths of her childhood. Her mother’s laugh, the tickle of her father’s chin as he kissed her cheek. Robb lifting her up in a hug, spinning her across the yard. When she was young, she knew, she absolutely _knew_ , a knight would come and whisk her away, fall in love with her, dance with her under the moon. 

And truly, the knight who whisked her away danced with her beneath a moon. 

In Pentos, in the land of red, the land of unknown spice and mysterious tongue, the little bird was his, his to hold and his to make laugh. 

Was it any different? From all the others? From any marriage? From any whore and man? Did it matter? 

Sansa asked herself, staring into the starless sky of Pentos, gaping like a toothless mouth: _Am I happy here?_ And did that matter? Did any of it matter? 

Was she safe? 

Was she fed? 

What did it matter if her happiness felt like rust? Felt like goiter, suffocating her slowly? 

She breathed into the night, feeling like a drop inside of the ocean. And truly, she admitted to herself, she was. So tiny, so small in the night. Nothing more than a star no one could see. A wolf among sheep, or a sheep among wolves. She no longer knew. Sansa, the red-haired beauty of the North, kissed by fire, the last of her name, shed herself like a skin. The armor inside of herself solid as clay, solid as fire. 

It mattered not. 

It was a price to be paid and she paid it freely now, a choice that was hers. She gave herself, knowing that one day, one day she could take it back. She could look back into those grey eyes and push back. She would be the one to wield the sword. She would be the one who carried out the sentence. 

A price to be paid. 

“There is nothing free in this world, Sandor Clegane,” she said to the sky, to the sea, to the North that waited for her and her alone. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it. I hope you'll leave me a comment as well. :]


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